


Earthquake Weather

by Lauren (notalwaysweak)



Category: Big Bang Theory
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-23
Updated: 2012-09-23
Packaged: 2017-11-14 21:03:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/519474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notalwaysweak/pseuds/Lauren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Huddling for warmth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Earthquake Weather

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Muir_Wolf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muir_Wolf/gifts).



> Originally posted on Tumblr for one of those memes, you know the ones. Characters are not mine. I spent ages trying to tell if Wil's phone was an iPhone and which way the storeroom door opens in the comic book store and didn't get conclusive answers to either, so I went with the answers that made the fic work.
> 
> * * *

The ground stopped shaking at least half an hour ago, but there are still thuds and bangs as random things fall outside the storeroom. Stuart thinks he can identify them by sound - the really clattery bang is the Iron Man mask replica, the soft whoosh followed by a rattling thump is the Batman comic rack, padded thick with back issues.

Inside the storeroom isn’t much better, but at least the boxes were wedged together pretty tightly, so not all of the towers have fallen. He’s tried to put them back, and at least moved enough to drag Wil onto the bed, but if there’s another big tremor they might all go over, and then what? He doesn’t know. He’s not sure if there’s anyone in the shop under things, either; banging on the door hasn’t produced a response.

There’s a moan from behind him. Stuart quits trying to open the door and sidles between the boxes to where Wil is trying to sit up. The bruise on his forehead is already a brilliant purple.

“Stay down, you’re hurt.”

Wil’s eyes are worryingly unfocused when they first try to meet his. “I’m fine. What happened?”

“Earthquake. We’re in the storeroom. Something fell on your head and I brought you back here.”

“And you just happen to have a bed? Stuie, I never thought of you as the type to sneak off for nookie breaks.”

“I don’t,” Stuart says. “I live here. Now shut up and lie down. I’ll try to get us out.”

Wil settles back against the pillows and closes his eyes. Stuart makes his way back towards the door, trying to remember if it’s safe to let someone who probably has a concussion fall asleep. The first aid kit is out in the store and besides he’s never used it for anything more than a paper cut.

And anyway, the frakking door won’t open. Something, or possibly several somethings, have fallen against it, and no amount of pushing and shoving will open it. He has to give up after just a few tries, and goes back to Wil thinking that if he ever filled out a D&D character sheet for himself, all six attributes would somehow come out as his dump stat. He’s not physically strong, his dexterity only really shows through in his drawing, his constitution’s average. Nobody with a high intelligence or wisdom score would be financially inept enough to end up living in the back of his own store, and his charisma is so wonderful that it invites men along to the movies so they can ask his date to make things official with them.

Wil is lying very still, and Stuart automatically picks his hand up to check his pulse at the wrist, even though he hasn’t done it since Boy Scouts. He can definitely feel a pulse, but isn’t sure if it’s his or Wil’s. Wil’s hand is cold and Stuart puts his other hand over the top of it.

“Are you sure you don’t use this bed for nookie breaks?” Wil asks without opening his eyes, and Stuart nearly jumps right out of his skin.

“Shut up,” he wittily retorts.

“Have you tried your cell phone?”

“Not since AT&T cut me off three months ago, no.”

Wil sighs and pushes his free hand into his jeans pocket, withdrawing an iPhone that he swishes his thumb across to unlock in a way that makes Stuart’s mouth go bemusingly dry.

“No reception.”

“Well, we  _are_  surrounded by a lot of concrete. And… insulation,” Stuart says, gesturing at the boxes. “And who knows what else might have fallen on this building, or around it.”

“I can’t even get onto Twitter,” Wil sulks, thumbing the phone madly. “This is ridiculous.”

“Maybe it’s not your phone; maybe something outside needs fixing and then you’ll have reception again.”

“I could  _easily_  fit our location into 140 characters or fewer.” Wil slips the phone back into his pocket and rolls onto his side, wincing when he moves his head. “Come here.”

“Um. What?”

“Come  _here_. I’m cold.”

“You’re lying on  _top_  of the covers, that’s why you’re cold.” But after watching Wil fight the blanket and lose for a solid minute, Stuart gives in and settles down beside Wil, pulling the blanket over both of them before shutting off the emergency flashlight. Wil promptly wraps his arms around Stuart as if Stuart is a mere hot-water bottle instead of a business owner, and his right thumb moves restlessly against the back of Stuart’s right hand where it lies against his stomach.

“Stop imaginary tweeting,” Stuart grumbles. “Someone’ll find us. Lonely Larry at least must’ve made it out. He runs like a rabbit.”

“What about Captain Sweatpants?”

“I didn’t hear anything that big fall over,” Stuart cracks, immediately feeling guilty, but Wil laughs, and the lucidity in that laugh is worth it.

Wil goes quiet for a while and Stuart assumes he’s asleep, but then warm breath against the back of his neck announces the arrival of another question. “Do you really live back here?”

“Yeah. I do.”

“Did AT&T really cut you off?”

“Yeah, they did.”

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“I’m not looking for anyone’s money, Wil. I can do this.”

“I wasn’t thinking about money.” Wil tightens his arms a little. “I was thinking more about… keeping you warm at night.”

Stuart rolls his eyes, even though he knows Wil can’t see it. “Wil Wheaton, did you just proposition me? Because I think you may have a concussion from that earthquake.”

The only response he gets is the warm drag of Wil’s lips across his cheek seeking his mouth. Then the next hour or so proves that:

  1. Wil does not have a concussion;
  2. Wil’s thumbs are, in fact, capable of doing things other than tweeting, and some particularly interesting things at that;
  3. Stuart’s Charisma score isn’t as bad as he thought it was; and
  4. emergency services, while necessary post-earthquake, sometimes arrive at terribly inconvenient times.




End file.
